Chess is a game for children

Dan Conradt — Chess is a game for children
9/29/2008 9:50:44 AM

I’m never going to be a threat to Bobby Fischer, but at least I’ve stopped calling them “the horse” and “the castle.”

I’ve always wanted to learn how to play chess. Based on my limited knowledge, the game seemed both intriguing and intimidating.

Years after making my first half-hearted attempt, I’m finally learning to play.

I’ve discovered that my opponent is ruthless.

At one time, I was interested enough in learning the game to buy a cheap chess set at the dime store. There were 32 black and white chessmen, a chess board the thickness of a cereal box and a sheet of instructions that explained in elementary terms how the pieces moved, the object of the game and when it was appropriate to say cool things like “checkmate.”

The first quasi-serious attempt to learn to play the game lasted less than half an hour. I set the game up on the kitchen table and tried to follow along with the instructions, which quickly made it clear that chess is not a game that lends itself to solitaire play.

So the pieces went back into the box, and the box went into the attic.

My interest was rekindled during my son’s back-to-school conference, when his second-grade teacher said her class would be learning to play chess.

I was surprised when, on the way home that night, Steven said, “I always wanted to know how to play chess.”

“Me, too,” I said. “And I’ve got a chess set at home.”

“Let’s play.”

So I pulled the game out of the attic and brushed off years of accumulated dust.

The chess board was showing the stress that comes from nearly three decades of temperature and humidity changes in a Minnesota attic, but the plastic chessmen were all there, along with an instruction sheet that had a 1979 copyright on the bottom.

I couldn’t help but think that I might be a threat to Bobby Fischer if I’d been serious about the game for the last 29 years.

We laid out the board at the kitchen table … I’d been through three kitchen tables since my first failed attempt to learn the game … and we played. We didn’t play fast, and we spent most of our time reading the directions to remind us how the players moved, but we played.

By the second game “the horse and the castle” had become “the knight and the rook.”

By the third game, we were playing with some strategy.

While I’ll never “let” Steven win, I didn’t see anything wrong with giving some helpful hints along the way:

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Why?” he asked.

“Look at where your king is, look at my players and remember how they move.”

He studied the board for a moment before a little light bulb went on, and he moved his knight back to its original position.

I don’t feel bound by the rule that says, “There are no do-overs once your finger leaves the piece,” but maybe I should: Two moves later Steven’s bishop swooped in from four squares away, and he plucked my king off the board.

“Can I do that?” he asked.

I didn’t have to look at the directions to tell me the answer: “Yes, you can.”

“Did I win?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Hey, Mom! I beat Dad in chess!”

I’ve always wanted to learn how to play pinochle.

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